


a memory of heart's blood once lost

by broomclosetkink



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Romance, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 13:51:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3812926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broomclosetkink/pseuds/broomclosetkink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's when she pushes the heavy length of her hair over her shoulder that she see's him, three empty seats down from her and holding a tumbler between two broad palms. -- solavellan tumblr prompt: strangers in a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a memory of heart's blood once lost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flabbadence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flabbadence/gifts).



> I honestly wrote this in 15 minutes or so, and so I'm terribly sorry how awful it is. In my defense, it made me cry to think about so I had to do it. flabbadence prompted me: strangers in a bar, but I took that and went somewhere about twenty miles south, so VERY sorry about that, dear! I hope it's not an utter disappointment.

It's when she pushes the heavy length of her hair over her shoulder that she see's him, three empty seats down from her and holding a tumbler between two broad palms. He's striking; not handsome, or not classically so; instead this man is... acutely attractive, in the otherworldly way of the statues of the ancient Elvhen. Ellana is struck with the need to trace a fingertip over the sharp length of his ear, run a hand over his bald head and scrape her nails against the back of his neck, to mouth the exquisite line of his jaw.

Quickly jerking her gaze away, Ellana blushes so vibrantly she can feel it burning. Rubbing a hand over her face, she lets out a shaky breath, startled at the pulse of desire in her stomach. Krem's right, it has been too long she got laid – she's lusting after oddly attractively middle-aged men in bars, now. Maybe she should take Krem up on his offer of friend's with benefits...

Ellana is pulled from her thoughts by a sound she cannot describe; it is deep, strangled, part of a name, maybe, and verging on a rasping sob. It makes her jerk to the side, and she can see the man she's been silently lusting after staring at her as though she's coated in stars and speaking to him with a voice of the gods. His eyes are narrow, slanted, but vividly blue and tinged with gray. Are they too bright – are those tears? His mouth, distressingly lush, is trembling, as are his hands. 

For a moment they simply watch each other, Ellana with worry mounting in her chest. She should probably leave, because this is probably how a serial killer looks at his future victim and wouldn't that be just her luck. But he's got the look of a man that's taken a knife in the rib, as though he's dying and seeing an angel in the white light, and there is something pushing her towards him.

“Um... are you okay?” The sound of her voice, hesitant against the background of chatter and laughter, the piano playing in the next room, makes him jerk and gasp. He swallows hard, presses a hand to his chest, and Ellana can see his control coming together. The furrow of his brow smooths (he has a scar there, a little off center, and her imagination is too vivid, as she can almost feel against her bottom lip). Three quick blinks and the glaze of tears in his eyes is gone, and suddenly he's offering her a smile. 

“Forgive me,” he says in a voice that is much deeper than she'd expected. Oh no, she mourns, resisting the urge to squirm. I'm defenseless against voices like that. Some people are into bums and others chests, hands or smiles or eyes; Ellana is a sucker for a deep, smooth voice. She just can't help it. It takes her a moment to realize he's still speaking. “...lost in my own thoughts, I'm afraid. I did not mean to startled you... miss?” 

“Ellana,” she answers, and she hopes he doesn't notice how breathless she's become. 

He laughs, a small, choked noise that has her thighs clenching. “Ellana.” He puts such emphasis on it that it seems... sacred. There's a hint of an accent to his words, one that she can't quite put a finger on. “Of course it would be – that is a beautiful name, Ellana.”

“A popular one,” she finds herself babbling after a gulp of her margarita. “Every other girl in clan Lavellan is named Ellana. One of our ancestors was the first Inquisitor, during the Dragon Age. Two thousand years later, we're still naming babies after her.” 

Pushing with one hand, he turns the seat of the bar stool so he's facing her full on. Oh – oh, Dread Wolf's mercy, his shoulders are so broad – “Deservedly so. She was an exceptional figure. A hero that saved the world.” 

“Riding in on a shining steed, closing the hole in the sky with one hand.” They both laugh, but his is... sweet, strained. 

“I would have suggested a griffon,” he mouths, drawing the words out with obvious pleasure. “But sadly they're all extinct.” 

“More's the pity for us all, then.” Nervously biting at her lower lip, Ellana weighs the idea of leaving now. But there's something about him, the way he leans towards her, just a little, and the adoring gaze he's leveling on her, like he's waiting his whole life to lay on eyes on her. Maybe it's love at first sight? 

Don't be stupid, she chastises, but her stomach is clenching and her heart is throbbing, and there's this feeling, oh, like fire in her chest – “I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?”

Cassandra's always talking about men with bedroom eyes, but damn, this guy's got a bedroom smile. It makes her choke, just a little, on her next sip. “Solas,” he offers, and he's sliding off the stool to stride towards her. He's got a hand out and Ellana responds automatically, unable to keep herself from jolting when he enfolds her slender fingers and small palm in both his hands. 

“Solas,” she repeats, watching the way his eyes darken and his tongue touching his bottom lip. There's a dim buzzing in the back of her head, like when she's working powerful magic, half in the Fade and half out. “I'm sorry, but... do I know you? From somewhere?”

He laughs, low and warm and happy, and then he's got fingers curled in her hair and he's kissing her. And, oh gods, what a kiss it is. Hot and sweet and brimming with passion, the rich taste of an expensive liquor lingering on his tongue as he licks his way into her mouth and groans. 

There are images bursting to life behind her eyes, voices ringing out; a life she'd forgotten, a life she shouldn't have lingering in her mind. It's terrifying, glorious, and suddenly she's got tears in her eyes and is clinging to his neck as though she's petrified he's going to run.

“What's happening?” Her question is spoken against his chin because she's kissing it, can't seem to keep her lips off him.

Solas laughs again, lifts her off the bar stool and holds her so tightly her feet never touch the floor. “We found each other,” he explains, and there are tears slick on his cheeks when burrows his face into her neck. “Ma Ellana, ma vhenan, ma sa'lath – I found you again.” 

This is madness, she's not going to deny it, and Ellana can only imagine how her friends are going to respond when she explains what's happened – or what she understands of it, at least. But that doesn't matter, not really, because his words resonate deep in her soul, shaking loose bits and pieces of what she was, could and always will be. 

“Take me home, vhenan.”

He carries her through the bar as though it's a wedding isle, with an arm under her knees and another around her shoulders. “Yes,” he agrees, turning sideways to step through a door held open by a startled doorman. “Anything you desire, ma vhenan'ara.” 

She doesn't realize how true his words are – not yet – or why when they finally topple into his bed, she's digging her nails into his back and panting, “Dread Wolf take me,” or why it makes him snarl and tear her smalls clean off. But that is a matter for later, when she doesn't have a very eager man slithering down her body with clear intent. 

“Ar lath ma,” Solas presses into her skin with mouth and tongue and fingertips. “Always, forever, for eternity; I waited for you, I never stopped looking...”

When they sleep it is with his head on her chest, an ear to her heart as though he can't quite believe she's truly there. Ellana holds him with arms and legs, aching and exhausted and happier than she can ever remember being being. And if she dreams of a maw of green light slicing across her palm, of demons falling from the sky, of an ancient magister made of nightmares of red lyrium – well, if she does, it's with a god at her side, guiding her through it, and the knowledge that now there's no reason to be afraid.


End file.
